


Face Value

by PippaLovesTunaBrick (SevralShips)



Category: Junoverse - Fandom, The Penumbra Podcast
Genre: Alternate Universe - Shapeshifters, Bad Things Happen Bingo, Childhood Trauma, Dysphoria, Explicit Consent, Explicit Sexual Content, Genderfluid Peter Nureyev, Hurt/Comfort, Insecurity, Juno Steel is in Love, Loss of Powers, M/M, Minor Buddy Aurinko/Vespa Ilkay, Minor Injuries, Multiple Orgasms, NSFW, Nonbinary Juno Steel, Other, POV Juno Steel, Penis In Vagina Sex, Shapeshifter!Nureyev AU, Shapeshifting during sex, Trans Peter Nureyev, Trust Issues, Wiping the other's tears away, unconditional attraction, very romantic smut
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2021-03-12
Updated: 2021-03-12
Packaged: 2021-03-19 13:14:34
Rating: Explicit
Warnings: No Archive Warnings Apply
Chapters: 1
Words: 9,150
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/29999874
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/SevralShips/pseuds/PippaLovesTunaBrick
Summary: I’d stolen one brief glimpse of the true Peter Nureyev, but it wasn’t something I was proud of having seen. It was way back when I had crawled inside his head, back in Miasma’s shithole of a tomb. I never knew for sure how much of what I’d seen in his head were things he’d actually meant for me to see.I’d felt like some sort of peeping Tom as I watched a teenaged Peter Nureyev scrub his father’s blood from his hands with grim determination. And then, there in the streaked surface of the mirror, past his hunched shoulder, I’d seen…him.Dark eyes in a pale face, gaze trained on the red swirling down the drain; dark hair with an elegant swoop, a slightly hooked nose, thin lips trembling around foxlike teeth.And then it had been gone, like I’d never seen it at all. Those features re-made themselves into new ones and he’d fled his home planet forever.Sometimes, I couldn’t help but doubt it. I wondered if I’d seen it at all, or if I'd ever see it again.Until today.
Relationships: Jupeter - Relationship, Peter Nureyev/Juno Steel
Comments: 2
Kudos: 50





	Face Value

**Author's Note:**

> In this fic, Nureyev is a genderfluid transman shapeshifter. He experiences some dysphoria and shame about the temporary loss of his ability meaning he is stuck in his original form, and part of that discomfort is addressed as having to do with his genitals and breasts. There is also mention of Juno having instances of dysphoria. This stuff is addressed directly, but I tried to be as sensitive to the characters and readers as possible, but if those issues might be uncomfortable or triggering, I'd suggest maybe skipping this one!

If you’ve ever seen something you weren’t meant to see, then maybe you’ll know what I mean when I say that that’s the stuff that’s the hardest to shake off. Back in Hyperion City, turning the other cheek was a lesson they taught us in our cribs. Contraband hyposprays changing hands by the fake trees outside Oldtown Elementary? Just a trick of the light through the dome, kid. An HCPD goon taking out your neighbor while he’s walking innocently down the street? Just keep your head down and keep walking, pal. A teacher’s hand lingering a little too-long, too-low, too-often on your classmate’s back? Look away and it’ll be like you never saw it at all, trust me.

Seeing things that I wasn’t meant to see has been a part of my life since day one. And sometimes I even managed to do the smart thing and look the other way. Most of the time not. The thing is, I’ve never been too good at knowing the difference between things that were my business and things that weren’t. I’ve been told about a million times that sticking my nose where it didn’t belong would leave me belly up sooner rather than later. Hell, I’d spent a lot of years counting on that particular promise coming true.

But, listen, I didn’t _enjoy_ seeing things I wasn’t supposed to see. I was always more interested in announcing that the emperor had no clothes than I was in getting an eyeful of the old guy in his birthday suit. That wasn’t the point of it. To each their own, but that’s not how I’ve ever gotten my kicks. I’ve never been much of a voyeur, despite all the peering in windows I’d done from various bushes and parked cars. More often than not, the stuff I saw just left me feeling queasy, or angry, or guilty. Not to mention, thirsty for a strong drink.

Or it just left me feeling at a loss. That’s how I felt about the one brief glimpse I’d stolen of the true Peter Nureyev.

It wasn’t something I was proud of having seen. It was way back when I had crawled inside his head, back in Miasma’s shithole of a tomb. Thinking about that time was enough to turn my stomach and twist a phantom pain into the spot where my right eye should’ve been, but apart from that, I never knew for sure how much of what I’d seen in his head were things he’d actually _meant_ for me to see. 

I’d felt like some sort of peeping Tom as I watched a teenaged Peter Nureyev scrub his father’s blood from his hands with grim determination. And then, there in the streaked surface of the mirror, past his hunched shoulder, I’d seen… _him._ Dark eyes in a pale face, gaze trained on the red swirling down the drain; dark hair with an elegant swoop, a slightly hooked nose, thin lips trembling around foxlike teeth. 

And then it had been gone, like I’d never seen it at all. Those features re-made themselves into new ones — olive skin, blue eyes, button nose, full mouth. The dark hair that flopped across his forehead bounced up into blond ringlets. No one could have pegged him for the boy I’d seen in the mirror — or for that matter, the young Peter Ransom that had met with Madam Rossignol, or the red-haired waif that had escaped New Kinshasa with bloody hands — as he’d fled his home planet forever.

I went back and forth about it, unable to turn the other cheek as if Oldtown had never taught me a damn thing. In the end, I had to assume Nureyev hadn’t meant to show himself to me, because if he’d wanted me to know, why would that have been the only time? He’d never shown it to me since. Not back in that Hyperion City hotel room, a star system away and a few major disappointments and revelations ago. Not in all our time on the _Carte Blanche_ , not even as we bared our souls to each other with words and touches in the silver light of passing stars. There had been time for it, times when it was dim in the cabin and clothes and eyepatches and weapons were cast aside and every word was a confession and an invitation to let the mask fall.

And, to be fair, the mask was not always the same. The mask faltered and the mask changed. I learned the features he favored — glossy auburn hair, for instance, or heart-shaped lips, or green eyes — and loved them with every beat of my stupid heart. And really, it wasn’t fair to call them a _mask_ at all _._ They were all _him_ , shifting itself was a part of him. My chameleon, able to blend in anywhere, able to disappear, able to be whoever and whatever he needed to be. Defying categorization, elusive and baffling even now that I knew him better than anyone else.

Sometimes, I couldn’t help but doubt it. I wondered if I’d seen it at all. Or if maybe that had just been a random set of features that I had ascribed significance to in the half-starved delirium of the tomb, with that damn pill eating into my brain and Miasma tightening the noose day by day. 

But… somehow, for some reason, deep in my gut I just _knew_ that that was Nureyev.

I watched for it, yearned for it, even. But amidst all those changing faces, all those shuffling features, not once did he wear the face I’d seen. And sometimes, I thought that in itself was proof enough that my gut was right, that that was _him_. It was such a beautiful face, surely he would wear it again if there wasn’t some compelling reason not to.

Not that beauty was ever in short supply with Peter Nureyev. He was _always_ beautiful, even when he wore features that shouldn’t have looked good together, he made them beautiful. His grace, his charm, his magnetism could have made any face and body into sheer art. Avant-garde, he might call it, and I’d nod along as if I knew what the hell that meant. ‘Cause, well, he was _him_ , and I loved him and I wanted him so much it made my stomach fizz like I’d eaten too many of Rita’s carbonated cheese cookies, and the goddamn shape of his nose didn’t have any real bearing on the matter. 

But… those things you’re not meant to see, they’re just really hard to shake, right? And sometimes, I couldn’t help but think about that face and wonder why he still hid from me. He’d given me his name, his heart, and, I liked to think, his trust, so why not that? 

But what right did I have to be greedy? This impossible man had given me so much, who was I to want _more_ _?_ He was entitled to his privacy, to one or two secrets to tuck even closer to his heart than he held me. I had him and I couldn’t bring myself to ask for anything more than he offered freely. So I’d just have to live without that face.

Or at least, that’s what I’d told myself, until the game changed as games tend to do when you live like Nureyev and I, balanced on the very knife edge of living to see tomorrow.

We had almost made it to the rendezvous point when the blast hit him in the back, a flare of yellow light that sent him sprawling. I spun on my heel, brim-full of adrenaline, lining up my shot and pulling the trigger in a fraction of a second. The plasma-blue of my stun blast hit our pursuer in the face and they went down. I would thank Buddy profusely for all the target practice at some point, I vowed as I fell into a crouch beside Nureyev.

“Nureyev,” I urged, the tight band of terror around my chest loosening slightly as he groaned — alive, thank _fuck_ . There was a singed patch on the back of his indigo blazer that didn’t look _too_ serious but I had never seen a gun like that, “Babe, can you walk? We really gotta-a...” my voice faltered as I gripped his shoulders and flipped him over, and found that face — _his_ face — grimacing up at me. _Gorgeous_ , was my first thought, even with the scuff on one sharp cheekbone, dirty and beading with blood, even with the dark eyes bleary and disoriented, even with the sharp mouth stretched in a rictus of pain. He was _gorgeous_ , “Go,” I managed to rasp out, “We gotta go.”

He nodded and I hoisted him to his feet. He didn’t wobble — of course he didn’t, Peter Nureyev was nothing if not _poised_ — but simply straightened up and brushed the dirt from his chest and thighs. While I stared. I wondered inanely if the etiquette for this was the same as letting someone know their fly was unzipped or they had something in their teeth. I probably should avert my eyes and tell him his face was showing. But I’m weak and I’m selfish, and I’ve never been good at averting my eyes from things I’m not supposed to see, so instead I just stared, drinking in the sight of him and trying to memorize every feature of the man before me. 

His hair was dark, almost black, and silky, one soft-looking lock falling across his high brow. There were silver hairs at his temples and fine lines on his forehead that had not been there the day he’d fled Brahma, and the sight of that time passing — Nureyev’s other faces were all breathtakingly ageless, unless a heist absolutely required signs of maturity — made it all the more real. I catalogued it hungrily; dark, arched brows like a bird’s wings; large eyes, slightly downturned and soulful, as dark and rich as coffee. His face was lean and angular, a narrow jaw and sharp cheekbones, an aquiline nose. The most beautiful lips I’d ever seen — the shape of his cupid’s bow like goddamn poetry — curving around my name, “Juno? Is something the matter?”

I shook my head, but I told him as delicately as I could, “You, um, don’t look like Kaiser Roxo anymore.”

Those dark eyes narrowed in confusion as one hand inspected his face, eyes going wide as his fingers fluttered across his nose, “His blaster—?” he began to ask, an un-Nureyev tremor to his voice, but I cut him off at the sound of running steps approaching.

“No time.” I said, grabbing his hand and breaking back into a run. The Ruby 7 should be just around the corner, with Jet and Rita and our ticket off this rock.

“What color was the blast?” he asked in an unreadable tone, running at my side with less than his usual surefootedness.

“Yellow,” I answered, and a glance sideways at him was enough to register the relief on his face, “I take it that’s good news?”

“Its effect will wear off quickly.” he said, planting more questions in my head than answers. But now was not the time for either as we reached the Ruby 7 and dove into the back seat.

“Might wanna step on it, big guy,” I urged Jet, short of breath, as the Ruby 7 got moving, “We’ve got dumb thugs in hot pursuit.”

“The Ruby 7 has no old-fashioned accelerator pedal, but assuming you mean that figuratively, Juno Steel, I have already ‘stepped on it’,” Jet pointed out, “However, if you mean it literally I will require some clarification.”

“We need to get the hell out of here, how’s that for clarification?”

“I shall continue to assume you meant it figuratively, then.” Jet remarked calmly, drowned out by Rita’s voice as she twisted around in the passenger seat to face me.

“You betta tell me _everything_ , boss!” she shouted gleefully, “Didja get the Guanine Crystal? Was it just like jewel heists in the streams, with the lasers and the sneakin’ and the—” Nureyev interrupted her rant by producing the rock from one of his pockets, holding it up to show the way the colors shifted along its surface, “ _Oooooh_ ,” Rita cooed, _“Preeetty!”_

“Yeah, it’s a real knockout,” I brushed off, “Jet, any clue why Buddy didn’t think to mention the weird guns the—”

“Not the _Crystal_ , Mistah Steel!” Rita interrupted, in an affronted tone, “I mean Mistah Ransom!”

“What?” I said, watching the unease gather on Nureyev’s unfamiliar features, the hand that held the Guanine Crystal lowering slightly.

“Mistah Ransom looks _so pretty!”_ she cast an annoyed look my way, “You’re supposed to _notice these things_ , Mistah Steel, he’s _your_ boyfriend, afta all!” she turned her attention back to Nureyev, taking on an exemplary tone as she paid him the compliment, “You look very pretty, Mistah Ransom, the face you got on is much nicer than the one you picked out for your disguise before.” she quirked an eyebrow at me, “Like that, it ain’t hard, boss.”

“Thanks for the tip, Rita.” I said flatly, watching Nureyev and trying to gauge what his tense expression meant.

“Yes, thank you, Rita,” he said smoothly, pocketing the Crystal once more, “It’s very kind of you to say.”

“I believe I heard you say something about ‘guns’?” Jet prompted, now that Rita had twisted back around in her seat and settled down.

I opened my mouth to describe the blaster that had shot Nureyev, but his hand covered mine on the upholstery between us. I looked at him, the tightness of his features as he shook his head minutely, “Forget it,” I said, and watched relief wash beautifully over Nureyev’s face, “I was just overreacting to the adrenaline.”

“I see,” Jet said, “It would seem that that is your usual response to that particular hormonal interaction, and therefore unlikely to be cause for concern.”

“Yuck!” Rita complained, “Can we please _not_ talk about Mistah Steel’s hormones, it makes me feel like I’m gonna throw up.”

“Adrenaline’s not that kind of hormone, Rita,” I said, but then Nureyev gave me a _look_ . And listen, he could make me beg with the slightest flutter of an eyelash — no matter what color or shape his eyes or eyelashes were — but the look he gave me was haughty and teasing and unconvinced. He was _daring_ me to _prove to him_ that Rita was wrong to think that adrenaline had something to do with me doing very dirty, unspeakable things and well… I couldn’t, not when he was giving me _that_ look with _that_ face, gorgeous and un-masked and all him. I stammered out, “Alright, well, it-it’s not _always_ that kinda hormone.”

Nureyev smirked, showing teeth that looked like they would hurt just right as Rita squealed in disgust, and Jet did something to the car’s incomprehensible controls. The Ruby 7 chirped, slowing down smoothly as it gracefully pulled into the _Carte Blanche_ ’s waiting cargo bay. The cargo doors shut behind us and Jet and Rita both climbed out of the car, and Nureyev moved to do the same, but I caught the hand that had covered mine, “Hey, wait,” he met my eye, a questioning, guarded look, “Are you okay?”

“I’m quite alright, Juno.” Nureyev reassured un-reassuringly.

“Are you sure?” I pressed, “You got _shot_ , you should probably at least let Vespa take a look at—”

“NO.” Nureyev said, sharper and louder than the moment called for and I tried not to flinch. He patted my hand, “No, I don’t believe that’s necessary. I,” he dug the Crystal out of his pocket again and pressed it into my hand, “If you would be so kind as to deliver that to Buddy, I will go and take my rest in my cabin.”

“Oh, yeah, sure,” I said, feeling a little nervous about the weight of the valuable gemstone in my hand, “If you start feeling light-headed or nauseous or get tunnel vision—” I began rattling off the rare side effects of a stun blast gone wrong.

“I am well aware of the dangers of being stunned, love,” Nureyev interrupted me, “But as it happens, that was not a stunner so the point, I’m afraid, is moot.”

“Wasn’t a—?” I began to ask, but cut myself off when the door behind me opened.

“I apologize for interrupting,” Jet said sternly, “But in light of your history of indiscreet coupling on the ship, I cannot permit you to be alone together in the Ruby 7.”

I groaned, face burning, “That was _one time_!” I complained.

“Incorrect,” Jet frowned, “It was I that interrupted your tryst in the kitchen, but other members of the crew have discovered you and the thief in compromising positions outside of your private cabins on three other occasions.”

“ _Fine_ ,” I huffed, “But we weren’t planning on using your car’s backseat like a couple of teenagers, right, Rans—” I cut off as I turned to find the other side of the backseat empty, the door open, “When the—? How in the—?” I swore, shook my head, “I hate when he does that…” I muttered as I climbed out of the Ruby 7 and slammed the door with a little more force than was strictly required.

Jet and Rita headed to the cockpit to get us off this lousy little moon, and I found Buddy and Vespa in the lounge. They were sitting together on one of the violently purple couches, Buddy’s shapely legs draped over Vespa’s lap and their heads bent together in quiet conversation. I sorta hated to interrupt them, but I didn’t let that stop me. At the sound of my footsteps, they both lifted their heads and Buddy’s eye found mine, noted the empty space beside me, and returned to my face with a canny gleam, “Hello, Juno, darling, how grand it is to see you back in one piece.”

“Where’s Ransom?” Vespa asked before I had a chance to form a snarky response about my intactness, or lack thereof.

“He went to go rest,” I explained, “He took a couple nasty stuns.” I didn’t quite keep the protective irritation out of my tone.

“Couldn’t’ve been that nasty.” Vespa observed, with an arched brow.

“What the hell’s that supposed to mean?” 

“Oh, darling, please, there’s no need to get snippy,” Buddy cut in impatiently, “I’m sure all Vespa meant to imply was that, were Ransom’s condition in any way dire, you would not have left his side,” she tilted a smile towards Vespa, “Does that cover it, dear?”

“Yeah,” Vespa said, the sharp edges of her seeming to melt as they only did under Buddy’s touch, “Yeah, Bud, that covers it.”

I averted my eyes from the tender, wordless exchange that passed between the two women under the pretense of locating the Crystal in my pocket. It didn’t actually take more than a second to get my fingers around it; I kept a civilized amount of junk in my pockets, unlike some people. I presented it and said, “Anyway, we got the thing.”

“I never doubted you would, darling,” Buddy said, folding her legs out of Vespa’s lap and taking the Guanine Crystal from me, “Or at any rate I never doubted that Ransom would get it, and I never doubted that you and Ransom would keep each other as safe as anyone can be in the process of liberating one-of-a-kind jewels from the personal vault of a one-of-a-kind _heel_.”

I rushed through the rest of my debrief with Buddy. It had really been a pretty straightforward thing, as far as heists went. We posed as the interior decorating team that our mark, Leopold Cox, was expecting next week, claiming a scheduling mishap on our end. From there it was child’s play for me to distract Leopold by suffering through a tour of his personal collection of things that should have been in museums while Nureyev slipped into and out of the safe where he kept his most prized jewels. Extricating ourselves shouldn’t have been too hard either, but Cox had mistaken my patience with his tour for some kind of flirtatious green light and we didn’t manage to leave without offending the guy enough for him to send his henchpeople after us (armed with weird guns).

“Fine work, Juno, darling,” Buddy said, when she’d finished laughing about the idea of me and Leopold Cox being a romantic item, “Do pass my congratulations on to Ransom.”

“Will do.” I promised, eagerly turning to the door at her dismissal.

“Steel!” Vespa barked and I rolled my eye and turned back to her. I _really_ wanted to get to Nureyev and make sure he was okay, and selfishly I would have liked to do it before his ability to conceal himself from me had recovered. Vespa had that look on her face that meant she was _trying_ to seem approachable, but missing the mark by about a parsec, “If he gets queasy or disoriented, you make damn sure he sees me, you got it?”

“Got it.” I said, around something that resembled a smile.

I hurried to Nureyev’s cabin, only to hesitate at the door. That in itself was strange; for all intents and purposes, it was _our_ cabin. I’d been sleeping there with him just about every night and it had been a long time since I’d felt the need to knock. But… something told me he might not appreciate me waltzing freely into his space as if it was my own right now, so I rapped my knuckles against the door and announced softly, “Hey, it’s Juno.”

There was about a second of silence — not _long_ , but long enough for my brain to cook up a mental image of Nureyev in there alone, going into post-stun shock — but then he responded evenly, “You can come in, love.” and I did.

The good news was, he didn’t appear to be in shock. He wasn’t foaming at the mouth or bleeding from the ears, or any of the other side effects they’d taught us about back at the academy. He was sitting on the bed with his back to me, presumably looking out at the stars gliding past the porthole. He had discarded the singed blazer, but I could see the spot where the blaster had burned through to the back of his drapey white shirt. 

The door shut behind me with a hiss and I asked, “How are you doing?”

Nureyev exhaled something that might distantly have been related to a laugh, “I’m quite alright, Juno.” he replied, but something about his tone was off. Guarded, still. Much more guarded than he normally was with me in private. It gave me pause.

“I,” I shifted my weight uncertainly from one foot to the other, “Would you rather I left? I get it if you wanna be alone, I—”

“No,” Nureyev turned his head so that I could see half of his face, as regal as a king on some antique coin, starlight illuminating the graceful line of his profile and catching like a prism in the lens of a pair of _glasses_ I’d never seen before, “I’d like you to stay, love, if it’s not too much to ask.”

“Sure, of course.” I said, walking to the bed and sitting down against the headboard. Close enough to be intimate, but still giving him the option to hide his face if that’s what he needed to do. We sat in silence for a minute or two before I couldn’t take it anymore, “So,” I asked, “What was the deal with that gun?”

“Hm, yes,” Nureyev said, glancing back at me over his shoulder and granting me a view of a little more of his face, “I presume it was a high-gloss chrome, with an unusually shaped double cartridge on the back?” 

“Yeah, exactly,” I said, nodding, “I’ve never seen one like it.”

A grim smile pulled a little at the corner of Nureyev’s lips and the glint of a sharp tooth made something flutter behind my navel, “No, I don’t imagine that you would have. They are rarely seen beyond the Outer Rim, though I suppose Leopold Cox would be the sort to outfit his guards with obscure Brahmese laser-pistols.”

I blinked and my brow furrowed, “They’re from Brahma?”

Nureyev gave an affirmative hum, “I haven’t encountered one since I left. They are treacherous little gizmos, outfitted with a laser and a taser in addition to the standard stun and kill functionalities.”

“What is it with Brahma and lasers?” I mused, joking weakly.

“An excellent anthropological line of questioning,” Nureyev noted, before explaining, “I never discovered _why_ but the laser and taser functions of those pistols always interfered with my shapeshifting ability.”

“Oh,” I said, trying to keep myself in the moment with him, rather than spinning out in anger and disgust at the knowledge that these guns had been used against him enough when he was a _kid_ that he learned so much about the side effects, “For how long?”

His shoulders hunched up very slightly, “The laser’s effect could last for almost two days,” he answered, “But the taser should wear off in a matter of hours.”

“Okay,” I said, “That’s good… right?”

“Yes,” Nureyev replied tightly, “It is… frustrating to not have access to it.”

“I never realized you could lose it,” I admitted, “Is that the only way?”

“The only way that I’m aware of, yes,” Nureyev said, “Extreme states of intoxication and sleep deprivation make it harder to do well. That is, harder to maintain an appearance very different from _this one_.” he indicated his face and body with a dismissive sweep of his hand.

I observed him for a moment. My eye had adjusted to the low light in the room now and I could see the tension in his shoulders and back, the tight hunch of his neck, “Nureyev,” I asked softly, “Are you sure you’re alright? Vespa could—”

“I will not be going to Vespa until I have recovered,” Nureyev said brusquely, “She is Outer Rim, and would probably recognize me on sight.”

“But that’s not even the face that’s famous.” I said, cocking my head in confusion.

That slip-up, apparently, was finally reason enough for Nureyev to fold one long leg up onto the bed and swivel to face me, “Why, Juno,” he said, with a sort of accusatory delight, “Did you finally decide after all this time to look me up?”

“No, I didn’t,” I shook my head, unable to keep from mirroring the crooked smile on the handsome face before me, “Why do you sound so _happy ?”_

“It’s flattering, Juno,” he explained, and I heard a note of Rex Glass in his intonation, “To find that I’ve made a lady curious enough to snoop.”

“Sure, I guess, maybe if I’d looked you up a couple years ago, like you wanted,” I said, “But, no, ah, I know because I, ya know. Saw it.”

I hated to be the reason that that flirtatious smile fell from his face, “Ah, yes. Of course.”

“And um,” I felt like I was digging myself deeper in terms of souring his mood, but I’d learned the hard way that we really were better off just being honest with each other, “I… Nureyev, I actually saw you like this, too.”

A muscle twitched in his jaw as he gritted out, “Oh. Did you?”

Yeah, no, maybe that one would have been better off kept to myself, “O-only for a second… before you shifted again and left Brahma.”

Nureyev hummed, nodded and suddenly appeared to be very interested in his hands, folded in his lap. His body language was so unfamiliar, so different from his usually languid ease. It occurred to me as I looked at him now that he was smaller than usual. Still a lot taller than I was, but _slight_ in a way that he was not in most of his shapes. 

Goddamn, was he beautiful. Delicate. But… _tense_ , and oddly enough… maybe self-conscious? It was hard to imagine that he could look like that and have anything to be insecure about, but he’d kept this self hidden for a long time, even from me.

“Juno,” he said, voice tight, “Perhaps no one has ever told you, but it is impolite to stare.”

“Never seemed to bother you before...” I said, keeping my tone neutral. I wanted to get to the bottom of whatever was _really_ bothering him about not being able to change, but it wouldn’t get me anywhere to just piss him off.

“Yes, well, I always had some say in what you could see before.” he bit back, words clipped.

“And what I couldn’t see.” I added. He fidgeted, “Am I getting warmer?”

Nureyev sighed and moved on the bed, decisively unhunching and resting his hands behind him on the mattress to support his weight. It was the very conscious move of a man who had learned from an early age that the way he was perceived was not solely based on how he rearranged his features, but how he rearranged his limbs, his posture, his expression. It was effective — of course, it was, he was a master of what he did — but it always bugged me a little when he used his tricks on me, especially when it wasn’t just for fun or to try and make me blush. His dark eyes peered at me from behind his glasses and he said in that smooth baritone voice of his, “Juno, if you have something to ask, I’d prefer you simply come out and ask it.”

“You’ve been hiding from me,” I said, “Why?”

Something wounded flashed across his features before he covered it up with an unruffled almost-smile. I was worried for a second that he would make light of it, make some offhand comment about how it was hardly hiding when we saw each other every day. But he only frowned and said, “Not hiding, Juno, not exactly. I don’t…” a sharp canine tugged at his lower lip as he abandoned that sentence, “You are looking at me right now and I... don’t hate it.”

“Well, that’s a relief.” I muttered, my better judgment useless in the face of my compulsive sarcasm, as usual.

It pulled a flicker of a bemused smile from Nureyev, and it delighted me to see how _natural_ one of my favorite expressions of his looked on his face. It was gone in the blink of an eye. Nureyev sighed, ran a hand back through that shiny dark hair, and closed his eyes before admitting, “I... have no love for this body, this face. What it _is_ , what it represents.”

“Well, I love it.” I countered firmly.

“Juno…” he cautioned, shaking his head, fondness around his disbelieving eyes.

“No, don’t. When I’m feeling like a total waste of space or like I always fuck everything up for everyone, you still love me, don’t you? Even then?” 

His eyes lit up at that, so dark and so clear, “Yes, yes, of course I do. I love you always, Juno. You know I do.”

“Yeah,” I said around a grateful smile, “I know. So let me do the same thing, because it looks like it’s my turn.” Nureyev looked a little uneasy with the idea, but too fond or too curious to not indulge me, so I went on, “I do love you like this. You’re beautiful, I mean, you’re _always_ beautiful, no matter what—” I caught myself before I got swept off on a description of how much I loved every face Nureyev had ever deigned to show me, “But, well, this is _real_ .” Nureyev’s lips twitched towards a frown and I hastily backtracked my word choice, “Not that the other yous are _fake_ or anything, I know they aren’t. Anything that’s you is beautiful to me.” Nureyev shifted closer to me on the bed, and I thought maybe from the shine in his eyes that he didn’t even realize he was doing it. He was so wound up in _control_ , it was always a rush to get him to do something involuntary, “But… it’s like…” I squeezed my eye shut, reaching for a comparison that would illuminate my point, “It’s like taking off your clothes or washing off your makeup or, telling each other the truth. It’s just pure _you_ without any filter or anything covering it up. Unobscured, and just you. Just, you’re beautiful.”

I cringed a little at the way my words had run away from me towards the end there, but a _sniff_ from Nureyev had my eye flying open, and me lurching forward to close the distance between us. He was already leaning in and I nearly knocked our heads together, but he caught my shoulders, “Juno...” he said tenderly, before his lips were finally pressed to mine.

Kissing Peter Nureyev was always a transcendent experience. It had only been a matter of hours, but it had been way too long since I’d had his lips pressed to mine, silken and infinite. Sharp teeth scraped lightly against my lip and I whimpered, and we melted together. My hands curled in the fabric of his shirt, and our tongues slid together in that innate primordial pattern and I was transported. I sucked Nureyev’s tongue and his shoulders hitched, a delicious sound spilling into me. My hands traveled up his slender neck to cradle his jaw, only to discover that his face was wet.

I broke the kiss, “Hey,” I said gently, taking in the sight of Nureyev weeping, dark lashes spiked where they pressed to fair skin, lean face shining. The way his expressive brows curved broke my heart, and the thick, helpless whimper that escaped him shattered the pieces, “Hey, it’s okay. Nureyev, babe, I’ve got you.”

That only made him cry harder and, look, I’ve been there. Sometimes tenderness is the worst thing for it when you're barely keeping it together. So I let him cry, occasionally murmuring that everything would be alright and pressing my lips to his forehead, his nose, his trembling lips. I cupped his face and wiped his tears away with my thumbs until they ran out, and then I let one hand trail back comfortingly through his hair. I hoped it was comforting anyway. That was the least I could do when I’d made him cry; I should have known better than to kiss when he was obviously not in a good place, “Hey,” I said, when I felt brave enough to acknowledge it, “Don’t worry about it. We don’t have to kiss, or, or anything else. If you don’t want to like this.”

Nureyev mustered a watery smirk, “ ‘ _Anything else’_?” he repeated leadingly.

“I-I wasn’t trying to imply,” I said, flustering helplessly because whether I’d meant to or not, _I sure as hell had implied_ , “I only, if, I mean, we usually, we _could_ , I’d be _happy to_ , but we don’t _have_ —”

“You,” Nureyev interrupted, shaking his head with that fond bemusement he reserved for me and me alone, “Are so _unbearably_ sweet, Juno, but you need not pretend to want me like this.”

“Pretend?” I repeated incredulously, tilting my head to the side so suddenly that my neck made a _pop_ sound, “Who’s _pretending?”_

“Come now,” Nureyev tutted, withdrawing from me enough to wipe the lingering dampness from his face and buff a smudge off one eyeglass lens, “I _know_ how this version of me looks,” I must have looked as totally bewildered as I felt because he explained distastefully, hand fluttering to indicate each attribute he described, “These wrinkles, these dull eyes, this abomination of a nose.”

I couldn’t help it, the sheer absurdity surprised a laugh out of me and Nureyev stiffened, “I’m sorry, sorry, but I mean… Nureyev, you _can’t_ be serious!” he frowned at me, “You are _stunning_ , and that's not just my damn bias talking! I could come up with a lotta words for those eyes and _‘dull’_ doesn’t even make the top fifty!”

Nureyev made a face, “I was referring to my impaired vision, as a matter of—”

“Luminous,” I interrupted, “Breathtaking, soulful, enchanting, fathomless—”

“ _‘Fathomless’_?” Nureyev said, in an impressed tone.

“It means immeasurably deep,” I explained, closing the space between us again because his baffled smile was like a magnet, “Impossible to understand, or fathom. The kinda deep you could just get lost in.”

“I know the word,” Nureyev murmured and kissed me again, too briefly, “Where have you been hiding this charming vocabulary?” he asked.

“Same place you’ve been hiding that charming face,” I said quietly, as I brushed a gentle touch against the bruise rising on his cheekbone, “And hair,” I pushed that rebellious lock of hair back from his face only to watch with satisfaction as it slid back into place, “Aaaand neck…” I added, trailing a caress down the side of his neck where I knew it would make him shiver. He shivered. My hands found the waist tie of his shirt, but hovered there as I glanced back at him for permission, confident I’d left no question of whether my desire for him was _pretend_.

Nureyev nodded and I began loosening the knot, “This body,” he said shakily, “Is far from perfect, I must warn you.”

“Great,” I said, shooting him an unfazed, mischievous smirk, “It’ll match mine, then.”

“Don’t be ridiculous, Juno,” Nureyev said as his shirt fell open under my hands, pale skin seeming almost to glow in the dim light, “Your body is—” he cut off with a gasp as my mouth connected with one pink, peaked nipple. 

He squeaked my name and I reluctantly pulled back, still cupping the swell of his small breast, “Okay?” I asked and he nodded, lips parted and sharp teeth glinting. My other hand rose to his other breast, my thumb brushing lightly across his nipple, making him sigh as it stiffened under my touch, “If anything’s not good for you, you’ll stop me.” Nureyev nodded again, “Promise?” I prompted.

“Yes, Juno, I promise,” he said, with a loving lilt, “Though the very idea of rejecting your touch strains believability.”

“It wouldn’t be rejecting me,” I corrected, as my thumb found the raised shape of an unfamiliar scar on Nureyev’s ribs, “It would be helping me.”

Nureyev lost his words for a moment as I lowered my mouth to him again, licking and sucking the sensitive flesh, “H-helping you?” he managed to ask as I laid him back in the bed, running my tongue curiously over the scar and admiring a constellation of moles by his belly button.

“Yeah,” I said and he shivered as my breath chilled his wet skin, “I’m trying to make you feel good, telling me what feels not-good would help.”

“Juno,” he smiled sweetly and I had never seen anything that came close to the sight of it, as beautiful and compassionate and serene as a saint, “ _You_ make me feel good. You _wanting_ me to feel good. It isn’t a matter of where you put your mouth.”

“Noted.” I said with a quick smile, before ignoring him soundly and exploring the different places on him that I could put my mouth. There were a lot of scars I’d never seen before, on his arms, and chest, and abdomen. I kissed them all, wishing I could go back in time and suck the pain out of them like venom, even though they were all long-healed. 

“ _Incredible,_ ” Nureyev sighed, and “ _My Juno,_ ” and “ _Goddess, yes,_ ” and again and again, “ _Love you, I love you._ ”

When I’d tasted every inch of him I had access to, my hand found the button on his pants. His voice faltered in his throat halfway through my name, and I leaned up to meet his eyes, “You sure this is okay, Nureyev?” I asked, as gently as I could, gently brushing the hair from his brow.

“I…” his sharp teeth — I _loved_ those teeth — dug into the red softness of his lower lip and his gaze slid away from mine, “As I said, this body is not perfect.”

“It’s pretty great so far…” I said, trailing an admiring hand down the curve of his breast and along his slim waist.

“It is _lacking_ in some areas.” Nureyev said pointedly. I blinked at him, nonplussed as to what the hell could possibly be _lacking_ from the most gorgeous person I’d ever seen. I cocked my head and Nureyev tutted an impatient, defensive sound, “It lacks something of _particular interest_.” He raised his eyebrows and glanced down at my hand, still poised on his fly.

“Nureyev, what century is it?” I demanded, flabbergasted, “You can’t _honestly_ think I care if you have a penis!” Nureyev actually visibly winced at my words, and I had to consider that perhaps that was exactly what he thought, “C’mon,” I soothed, stroking a thumb across his cheek, “We’ve had great sex plenty of times when you didn’t have a penis, why would it bother me now?”

Nureyev was not soothed, his features tight as he sniffed, “Well, I should think it’s not so foreign a concept, given that there are days when you are less than thrilled with your own anatomy.”

“Oh,” I said, taking my hands off him and sitting back on my heels. Yeah, _that_ I could understand. Some days, especially in light of Nureyev’s effusive admiration, I was very at home in my skin. Some days, my body felt more like a sack of scars and fat that I was forced to lug around and clothes all fit _wrong_ and what was between my thighs didn’t feel like a great fit either, “Okay, yeah, I get it,” I said, contrite and embarrassed to have made light of his discomfort after all my big romantic talk about making him feel good, “Sorry, I- I do understand, and I’m, obviously if you don't want me to, I—”

“Juno?” Nureyev was propped up on one elbow and smiling slightly.

“Yeah?” I cringed, ready to be put in my place.

“Why don't you kiss me again, love?”

I studied the look on his face, but all I could find there was love, “I can do that.” I said, as I leaned back in and covered his lips with mine. We melted effortlessly together again, lost in one of those kisses that stretched into infinity. For a long time, our lips were the only point of contact, and then Nureyev’s fingers wound themselves into my hair. I groaned onto his tongue and sharp teeth scraped lightly at my lip. My body hovered over his, a tiny sliver of body-heated air separating us and driving me nuts with the need to close that distance. As our kiss deepened and deepened, he began to squirm with pleasure and finally, accidentally, — or just as likely in a move expertly _disguised_ as an accident — his groin brushed against mine and I broke our kiss with an involuntary groan.

It might have been an accident the first time, but it sure as shit wasn’t an accident the second time, when he hooked one long leg around my hip and pressed us together. I had been hard in my pants for what felt like ages and even if this was about making _him_ feel good, I’m only human. There was no recourse for me but to grind my aching flesh into the offer of friction and heat, even through our clothes. When we pressed together the third time, Nureyev’s sharp teeth ghosted along the sensitive skin of my ear and I moaned, “Nureyev, _please_.”

Nureyev hummed appreciatively, “Do you want something, Juno?” he asked, breath tickling tantalizingly at my neck and ear.

“I want you, obviously,” I said, grinding against him again and twisting my head to kiss his lips, “Just tell me, tell me what’s okay, what you want, and I’ll do it.”

Nureyev’s hands unwound from my hair and slipped between us. I leaned back to give him space and watched as his nimble fingers made short work of his pants and slid them, along with his underwear, down and off of his long, elegant legs. My eye catalogued the scars on his knees, the freckles, the dark hair, before resting on the patch of soft curls between his legs. My fingers trailed up his thigh as he lay back down, before fluttering right over those tempting curls, “Touch me.” he said, half command and half plea.

My hand followed the path that his had blazed and he sighed. He spread his legs for me and as my fingertips brushed their destination, he said, “And keep kissing me.”

“Happy to.” I assured him, against his lips, before kissing him again as my fingers tentatively explored him. 

He was so wet, and so very warm. He shivered and whimpered into my kiss and I ran my fingertips slowly along his folds, learning every slick shape of his. I circled his clit gingerly and he moaned. I did that again, and again, and soon he was moaning too much for me to kiss him, so I just watched him in awe as I touched him, “You’re so beautiful like this,” I said, the thought slipping out of my mouth, “So goddamn beautiful, babe.”

Nureyev’s eyes fluttered open, glasses long since pushed askew, “Juno...” he moaned, and I marveled at the sight of his flushed cheeks and red parted lips, his shining dark eyes and the pleasure playing across his face.

“Yeah, I’ve got you, babe,” I reassured as I touched him just a little faster, just a little harder and he keened. His body went taut and shuddered and I realized he was orgasming and my cock throbbed eagerly inside my pants. As his climax subsided, I made my touch lighter and asked reluctantly, “Do you want me to stop?”

“ _No_ , heavens, no!” Nureyev panted, blinking up at me with bright-bleary eyes, “I want _you_ , Juno, please!” I shuddered and he must have seen it, one hand coming up to cup my cheek as he said in a dreamy, smitten tone, “So good, so determined to make me feel good, but I would like you to enjoy yourself, too, my love.”

I chuckled, “I’ve been enjoying myself plenty, don’t worry about that.”

“So… you don’t want to fuck me, then?” he teased, and I’m not proud of how well that trick worked, as I scrambled to get out of my pants as fast as I could, “That’s what I thought.” he remarked smugly.

“Yeah, well,” I said, kneeling between his knees, eager and cautious all at once, “You’re extremely fucking sexy, so it was a pretty safe bet.”

Maybe my caution showed on my face because one of Nureyev’s hands cupped my chin reassuringly even as the other guided my hips closer to his, “Relax, love,” he cooed, “I promise you I want this as much as I’ve ever wanted anything.”

“That makes two of us.” I breathed as I guided myself to his entrance and pressed slowly inside. He felt _perfect_ , more infinite silk and exquisite heat, but words like that were trapped inside my pleasure-addled brain and all I managed was to sigh out his name.

His legs wrapped around my waist and he pressed up to take me deeper, my hand found his clit again and we were gone. I kept my thrusts slow at first, relishing every inch of his velvet heat and every delicious sound he made, watching his gorgeous face express every tiny sensation. 

He was nearing orgasm again — I could tell by the pitch of his moans, the way he gushed and tightened around me, the way his hands scrabbled at my shoulders and the sheets — when it happened. His features blurred, flickered, slid into a different face shape and a different mouth before reverting back in the space of a couple seconds. I watched, transfixed, as it happened again. And again. It happened again, captivatingly, as his orgasm crashed over him, his face fluttering as if I were flipping through the pages of a magazine. He might not have noticed, if it had not been for the way his clit lengthened between my fingers and I stroked it as it grew. Nureyev gave a guttural cry that might have been my name and his eyes flew open, the irises flickering between their natural darkness and a bright gold, “Oh!” he exclaimed, and I had the fortune of witnessing his bright red flush across a dozen or so different faces, “Oh, _damn_ , it-it always is d-difficult to get it reined in at first, apologies, Juno, d-damn—”

“Shh,” I hushed, stroking back his hair with my free hand and marveling as the silky strands became curls and then waves and then straight beneath my palm, “No, you don’t need to apologize. You just focus on feeling good, that’s all I want.”

“ _Juno…_ ” he whined, shaking his head, “I… you can’t truly, I’m a freak—”

“You’re a miracle,” I corrected, “You’re incredible, you’re breathtaking.”

“Juno, _Juno!_ ” he pleaded, his hips jerking up off the bed, pressing me deeper into him even as his cock took shape between my fingers, hard and leaking precum.

“Do you want me to keep fucking you, babe?” I asked, rasping slightly at the effort it took to restrain myself.

He nodded fervently, “Yes, yes, sweet mercy, yes!”

With that enthusiastic response, I stopped holding back, folding those mile-long legs of his over my shoulders as I thrust into his slick velvet heat at a desperate pace, stroking his cock, and letting every stupid word of praise in my head fall out of my mouth, “You are an absolute miracle, Nureyev, I swear, I can’t believe you can even exist. It- amazing, _no,_ it’s not even amazement, it’s _awe_ , I-I’m in awe, _goddamn_ , you’re so beautiful, _oh_ , you feel _so good, so good_ —”

“Juno, my goddess, _oh_ , my sweet…” Nureyev babbled, his features changing almost dizzyingly as he tightened around me and twitched in my hand.

“Yeah,” I said, as I teetered on the edge myself, “Oh, fuck, yeah, _yes_ , that’s it, come for me again, babe. _Show me_.”

He didn’t need to be told twice, clamping down around me and throwing his head back with a cry, every inch of him seeming to shimmer as all the colors and textures of him shifted and his edges changed shape so fast they blurred. I came into him with a moan, humbled as some sort of starry-eyed acolyte for even being allowed to witness him, much less be inside him. When the too-bright shining instant of it passed, I slumped off to the side of him to catch my breath, drawing him to me with one arm. I watched dreamily as the magic of him shifted — beauty in every face, in every heaving chest, in every hand clenched in ecstasy — like watching a dance following some song I could not hear.

The transitions slowed, his features settling in for seconds, then minutes at a time. I was surprised when _his_ face — his true face, with that irresistibly cunning mouth and that regal nose — came back into view, and my surprise only grew when the seconds and minutes ticked by without it changing, “Nureyev,” I murmured, “You okay?”

His eyes opened and he squinted at me, “Yes,” he said, feeling around on the bed and locating his glasses, perching them back on his nose. He smiled beatifically when his view of me became clear again and I couldn’t help but return the smile, “Yes, beautiful, I’m better than okay.”

“You, um,” I wet my lips, “You look like you again.”

“I didn’t think you’d mind.” He said, those dark elegant eyebrows raised.

“I don’t!” I said in a rush, “I could look at you like this forever,” I confessed, a little more earnestly than I meant, but the afterglow had always made me embarrassingly sincere, “I, well, I just thought after all that, you’d be in control of your shifting again.”

“Oh, yes, and you were right to think so.” he said, propping himself up on one elbow over me. My heart nearly swooned out of my chest as he proved his point by flipping through some familiar faces — Rex Glass, Duke Rose, Peter Ransom, Monsieur Dauphin — as if he were shuffling through a deck of cards. And then his features were his again, and his eyes were almost bashful behind his lenses, even as his mouth curled like he was the cat who’d got the tuna brick, “It’s only that, well, having you see me properly has played out so favorably thus far, I thought I might as well see where else it might go.”

“ _‘Favorably’_ sounds like an understatement if you ask me.” I grumbled good-naturedly, tugging him down into an embrace.

“You’ve developed quite an interest in vocabulary, my love,” Nureyev remarked, “How about…” he pressed a kiss to my jaw as he reached for the correct word, “Sublime.”

I kissed his temple, “Yeah,” I said softly, “That sounds about right.”

“And, er…” I felt Nureyev’s grin against me, “Innovative.”

“Innovative?” I repeated, peering down at his skeptically, “That one’s not as, I dunno, romantic.”

“Perhaps not,” Nureyev hummed, “But I’ve never thought to use my ability in that way. The… _possibilities_ are…” he shrugged one shoulder, “Intriguing.”

I huffed a laugh, even as my own imagination ran wild with ideas of how fun this new ‘innovation’ could be, how many new enticing ways of making Nureyev feel good it presented. We lay in a comfortable, drowsy silence for a few minutes as the sweat cooled on our skin. My fingers tangled pleasantly through the soft strands of Nureyev’s hair and his breathing grew slow and deep against my shoulder.

“I have to thank you, Juno.” he said, when I thought he had to be on the verge of sleep.

“Huh?” I said, “What for?”

“For loving me so well. Unconditional is the apt word, I suppose,” Nureyev glanced up and granted me a sleepy smile, “I never thought I would be able to even imagine making peace with this skin.”

“Well, it’s good skin,” I commented inanely, running a hand up his smooth back, immediately cringing and pointing out, “That sounded less creepy in my head, I swear.” Nureyev chuckled and I leaned down and kissed the curved bridge of his nose, “I’m happy I could help, but I understand. And I love you, no matter what.”

“I love you, darling,” Nureyev said in a sincere whisper, “Placing my trust in you continues to be the best bad decision I have ever made.”

I laughed, “Yeah, me too.” Nureyev yawned and I took that as my cue. I pulled the blanket over us and curled myself around him, hugging close every miraculous inch of him.

**Author's Note:**

> Thank you for reading, I would LOVE to hear from you in the comments!
> 
> I can also be found at pippalovestunabrick.tumblr !


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